Reawakening
by fitzefitcher
Summary: Not all the undead awoke alone with a thirst for revenge; a lucky few had the luxury of waking safely in the arms of their allies. A troll, looking for a brother, instead finds an old ally.


_Um, hi._

_I'm a little new to the Warcraft ff community, and to the fandom itself, so please, be gentle. I like to think I know a thing or two about the lore, but if I completely missed something really important, let me know._

_Also, just so you know, there is a bit of femmeslash (girl/girl in case I'm not clear). Not anything extreme, just blatant hintings. Ok, I'm done._

**Reawakening**

The alliance had only been made out of convenience, but it was still an alliance just the same. And as such, in an act of friendship, the Warchief Thrall had sent aid to Sylvanas and her Forsaken.

Unfortunately, the gesture wasn't entirely appreciated.

"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" a particularly belligerent apothecary had said when said aid had arrived at the Undercity. "But if you truly believe you are of use to us, Lady Sylvanas is in the Royal Quarter."

Shuuna found it hard not to roll her eyes at this, and was amazed that the orc ambassador that led their group didn't. 'Group' was a bit of an understatement; there were roughly twenty people in this part alone, the other thirty having elected to wait outside the gates for instructions. The group consisted mostly of healers- shamans, priests, and the like- but there were still several warriors with them. Because she was a priest, Shuuna was sent to Deathknell to aid in the 'awakening' of the remaining undead. However, what they truly meant was 'rehabilitation;' when the forsaken were first freed from the Lich King, not all of them caught on right away. Not all of them awoke with an immediate thirst for vengeance. No, some of them had not left the mindless state they had entered, or had found it difficult to do so. The violent ones had been dealt with quickly and easily (along with some that were confused as to what was going on and didn't quite deserve it), but still a great number remained of those that had fallen into a slumber-like trance, or wandered helplessly like a newborn left for dead.

But she did not particularly _care_ about all this.

In fact, the only reason she had volunteered for this at all was because her brother had gone missing. He had volunteered for the first aid sent over, and had disappeared. It was rumored that there had been multiple Scourge attacks around the time he was sent over, but she didn't want to think about the possibility of him dying, or worse. (They were probably getting desperate since the Forsaken's coup.)

She was almost grateful for the apothecary interrupting her train of thought.

"The sleepers are down here," the Forsaken said with slight impatience. "Most have already awoken on their own, but if you feel that you can speed up the process, feel free to do so by whatever means necessary." The troll nodded, and the Forsaken ushered her down to the crypts.

She could not help but feel both relieved and disappointed when she did not immediately see her brother among the bodies stacked in and on the shelves of the mausoleum. After smothering that emotion, she set to work.

"Was there anyone in here during the plague outbreak? Anyone living?"

"Not to our knowledge, no. Not many could bury their dead before they died themselves," the Forsaken replied rather snidely.

"Good," Shuuna said. "I can use this, then," She picked up the dusty funeral shawl that had been shoved out of the way (probably to make more room for the bodies). It hadn't been stated as a question, but the Forsaken had interpreted it as such.

"Yes, you may use whatever you feel is necessary," she replied. Shuuna shook out the shawl and spread it across the harsh stone floor. Then, taking off her cloak, she spread that over the shawl. The cloak, while normally a modest faded plum color, seemed unusually bright and cheery compared with the deadness, the colorlessness of the morgue. (Not that the troll was much different- she stood out rather easily with her fuzzy, sky-blue skin, earth-orange eyes, and wild blue-turquoise mane.)

The mageling wasn't sure where the priest had got them and how she had lit them, but suddenly the troll had several white candles on hand. She was placing them carefully on and around the corners of the cloak.

"To prevent their souls from being stolen," she said needlessly. The mage only snickered at this. She stopped when the troll gave her a hard stare. Shuuna, having set up her station, proceeded to pick up the nearest corpse and lay it gently on the cloak. She lay his head on her lap as she sat down, covered his ears (what was left of them, anyway) with her hands, and gently pressed her thumbs to his temples. She softly pawed at his consciousness.

The man gasped raggedly, but his eyes did not open. His will was still struggling against that of the Lich King's; although **His** presence was not there, the man clearly still weight of it upon him.

"I will not harm you," she murmured firmly. "And no longer will **He**." The tips of her fingers glowed a faint gold, and the man began gasping again, more haphazardly than before.

"You are not **His** slave," she encouraged. "**He** has no power over you." She probed deeper into his distressed mind, painfully, soothingly liberating the shards of thought and consciousness. "**He** had no power over you," she insisted, hands glowing brighter. The candles began to flicker and sputter, shadows stalking the walls. "**He** cannot control you any longer," she said through gritted teeth, purging the mark that had tainted his mind.

_**He**__ has no power over you. __**He**__ has no power over you. __**He**__ has no power over you._

She imprinted her mantra onto his scarred mind, pushing the remnants of **His** presence away.

And suddenly, the shards of consciousness fused together into one united being under her guiding hand.

His eyes fluttered open. They were yellow and glowing, but by his own will, and not by **His**. He no longer gasped, but his chest rose and fell though he was dead.

"Who…" he wheezed, looking up at her with tired confusion. "…Who are you…?"

"I am here to help," she said calmly. She did not relinquish her hold on him just yet. "Do you remember who you are?" she asked, nudging his newly formed mind. Flashes of memory, distorted and manic, raced through his head, and through that, hers.

"Nngh," he struggled, piecing them together meticulously.

"Do you remember your name?" Letters flashed past. She could not read them, but having delved so deep into his mind, knew what they were supposed to mean.

"No…" He, however, could not quite grasp it. He knew it was there but could not reach it. "No," he said quietly, ashamed. She rubbed his temples with her thumbs, fingers glowing. The letters were rearranging themselves in short bursts.

"No, I don… Yes, I remember," he croaked, pleased with himself. She smiled in the way that a mother would.

"What is it?" she asked kindly.

"Mm…" he started. "Mm… Markus. Markus Tweed. A ff- A frost mage. That's me," he said with all the glee of a small child. "Am… Am I… dead?"

"Not quite," Shuuna couldn't bring herself to say 'yes.' "There are others like you. Do you want to meet them?"

"Yeh-" he cut off for a moment, still having difficulty speaking. "Yes. I do." She smiled warmly, and released him from her protective grip. After a moment, and with a good deal of unsteadiness, the mage got up on his own, stumbling towards the stairway.

"Well, that's _one_ down," the forsaken girl that led her there said, borderline sarcastic. "And two dozen more to go," she finished almost maliciously. The priest turned her head and gave her a long, hard stare, eyes narrowed and mouth a thin, firm line.

"If you did not stay to help, then I do not require your presence," Shuuna stated serenely. (It was a polite way of saying 'Get the fuck out.') The mageling, miffed, turned and stomped up the stairs.

"Good luck finding the inn!" she called spitefully.

-----

It turned out that Shuuna didn't need the inn.

She stayed in the crypt, working two days straight, only pausing for food and water, and never for sleep. Other priests (occasionally a shaman) came and went that first day, but she stayed.

This was because at the end of the first day, when she had finally staggered out of the morgue, gotten food, and went to back to retrieve her things for the night, there was a meat cart waiting outside the entrance. Two of the walking dead carried a third between them, one of the sleepers. They were collecting parts for an abomination, and apparently thought that using one of their sleeping brethren was a good idea. Oh wait, that's right, they didn't _know_ that it was one of them. They thought that bodies of the mindless were being thrown into the morgue, instead of being burned immediately like Sylvanas had ordered. Because the horrid stench of the funeral pyres wasn't enough, apparently.

She hollered at them and bullied them into putting back all the sleepers they had taken, and spent most of the night reassembling the ones they had dismembered. And just out of caution, she stayed there working until noon the next day.

The meat cart had appeared three more times before they got the picture. So they weren't stupid. Just faithless to their own kind. Sylvanas would rein them in, in time, she supposed, but she vaguely wondered why the Forsaken had even allied with them at all.

At the meat cart's final appearance, she asked them if they would be so kind as to _leave_ and look elsewhere, even giving directions to the nearest pyres. The two would-be apothecaries left, grumbling about the quality of the bodies, and didn't come back. Shuuna, realizing how much time she'd wasted on just reassembling the bodies, snarled and returned to work.

She needed as much time to search as possible, after all.

She tried to smother the choking worry that abruptly invaded her chest. She needed to focus. There were only a few bodies left. If they finished today, then she could start searching tomorrow. A sort of shaky, hopeful determination replaced the worry, and though her heart was still thudding in concerned anguish, she could now breathe. (In retrospect, she probably wouldn't have been able to sleep at the inn anyway; the worry would have kept her awake.) So once again, she turned her attention towards the mausoleum.

There were now five cloaks spread across the floor, four healers among them, and with several others coming and going. Talk of the incident with the meat cart had gotten around, apparently. She wasn't surprised at this- she was awfully loud when she scolded them. In fact, the Dark Lady herself heard word of it, and was not amused to say the least. Apparently the apothecaries were punished severely, but nobody would say how. (It was probably too gruesome to repeat.) Although she did hear talk of a new abomination guard…

"Want me to take the last one?"

She snapped back to reality rather quickly, turning to the orc shaman that had addressed her.

"No, it's alright," she started, glancing around for the corpse. There, curled up in the corner. "I've got this-"

She realized with sickeningly acute clarity _exactly_ who it was. She nearly tripped over her own feet to get to them.

"Are you feeling alright?" the shaman asked. "You look a little pale."

"No, I'm…" She kneeled down next to the corpse. "I'm fine. I can handle this." She took the body- tiny compared to her long, lean frame- and cradled it in her arms.

"Familiar face?" She nodded.

"We fought at Mt. Hyjal together," she said grimly. The orc looked decidedly more sympathetic now.

"The Scourge aren't above taking the bodies of the fallen," he replied, equally as grim. She shuddered for a moment or so. She couldn't see- everything was blurry. She couldn't hear- everything was muffled. For a moment, it was just her and the befallen.

She was surprised and ashamed that she hadn't recognized her long before this.

She felt a large hand on her shoulder.

"It wasn't your fault," he muttered, as if he had delved into her subconscious. "I can handle this one, if you like." She shook her head.

"No I-" she cut off for a moment, having difficulty speaking. "I can do this." She didn't feel stupid for crying; the other healers, all of them, had seen at least one familiar face, mostly from Mt. Hyjal. She felt stupid because she didn't find her first. Because she didn't save her from this.

She lay the girl down on her cloak, placing her head on her lap as she sat down. She covered her ears with her hands, and pressed her thumbs against her temples.

"I'm so sorry, Meg," she whispered. She reached into the girl's mind and began her mantra again.

The girl shuddered but made no sound nor opened her eyes. Her mind was very much alive, very much together. (She had fought **His** control up until the very end.)

_**He**__ has no power over you._

However, it seemed that, should Shuuna dig further, her mind would come apart at the seams. She had fought off **His** presence, **His** influence for so long that her humanity hung by a thread. Shuuna could see it in the girl's memory- She knew she was dying, and what would come with it. She knew this, and attempted to prevent it by retreating into a meditative state.

She sent herself into a coma, starved to death, and became a mindless beast anyway.

_She was writhing and ripping out her own hair when gave in._

And when she finally regained control of herself, the first thing she did was go back into a coma. (It was too late. She had already aided in the slaughter of thousands.)

_**He**__ has no power over you._

Shuuna delved no further, but made her presence known, pawing at her mind with memories of her own.

When they'd first met, she had long, wavy red hair (it was short, ragged, and pale yellow-green now), and while she'd been a priest in life, she was not scrawny in the least. (Her ribs were showing through her skin now.)

_Do you remember me?_

The girl winced. She opened her mouth, and what came out was a hiss.

They didn't like each other much at first (humans and trolls weren't exactly great friends to begin with after all), but more and more they found themselves in each other's company (it was necessary for survival- desperate times, desperate measures, so the orcs and trolls of Durotar and the humans of Theramore united as one force), and then, on the eve of battle they each craved the other's embrace and-

Shuuna presented her with a memory, one that was indescribably intimate and would wake her up no matter what. (If it didn't, she'd burn the body herself.)

"Megala," she pleaded. "Do you remember me?"

She thrashed and thrashed, hissing all the while, but the troll didn't let go. She continued to channel that memory, hoping to any and all gods that she didn't have to _break_ her. The corpse shuddered and her back arched, ceasing to make any noise but mouth remaining open. The candles flickered and sputtered, wax spilling everywhere as if a strong wind had blown through. The dark of the morgue intensified, and something began to travel up the girl's throat and out her open mouth. It was viscous, black, and murky, bubbling out like tar and floating up like smoke.

"You can do it, Meg," Shuuna hissed. "Keep fighting it-!!" The girl was gripping the cloak in tightened fists. (If she didn't, she'd be dragged away.) The remnants of **His** presence slithered on and out until it resembled a warped serpent, floating above them in an alluring seduction, the tail clutching something small and glowing and precious-

"Be cleansed!" Shuuna snarled as roughly half a dozen bolts of holy light utterly _annihilated_ the taint. It shrieked, a horrible, banshee-esque screech, releasing the essence and dissipating into the air. The other healers remained at the ready, just in case there was still some left (this was not the worst case they'd had today, but they didn't want to push their luck). The small, glowing, precious something slowly receded back into its host, and the girl relaxed. Her chest rose and fell in small, feathery breaths (though she was dead). This dislodged any remaining tension among the healers, who returned to their stations.

"Megala?" Shuuna whispered as the others began to finish up. "Meg? Can you hear me?"

"Sh-shh…" Meg hissed. Her heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach. "Sh… Shuuna?" …Only to fly up and pound in her ears. "Shuuna of the Darkspear?"

"Meg-" she half-sobbed, grinning so wide that it hurt.

Megala blinked slowly out of exhaustion. She smiled softly at Shuuna. The she-troll responded to this by kissing her full on the mouth. (Her tusks were small so it wasn't too tricky.)

She couldn't see anything again. But that was okay- she wasn't the only one who had been moved to tears by their risen brethren.

They were united- reunited- and that's all that mattered.


End file.
